


Song of the Soulless

by flashforeward



Series: Errand Boy to Kings [2]
Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Het, M/M, Mystery, Slash, Vampires, Wesen Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:39:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashforeward/pseuds/flashforeward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sean and Sebastien go their separate ways again, each off to work the plan the resistance has been coming up with. In Portland, Hank and Nick are on a case that looks like an everyday murder case, not a Wesen in sight. As Sean struggles with his nature and risks exposing a secret long kept so he can survive, Hank and Nick uncover a Wesen connection that could bring the Royals down on all their heads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Song of the Soulless

**Author's Note:**

> I know this will go AU as soon as the show comes back from hiatus, so I'm marking it as such. This is the second in the Errand Boy to Kings series, though you don't really need to read Moments first. This story has been a lot of things since season 2...and now I'm finally writing it and it's entirely different from my original idea, which I'm kind of excited about. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Edit (12/17/13): Helps if I spell Sebastien right...

**Song of the Soulless**

_…the Seirênês will sing his mind away_  
on their sweet meadow lolling. There are bones  
of dead men rotting in a pile beside them  
and flayed skin shrivel around the spot. 

-The Odyessy by Homer, translated By Robert Fitzgerald

**Prologue**

It’s the phone call that does it. Text after text and then he _calls_ and all Jacob can think is _shit, shit, shit!_ Should have answered, should have asked what was wrong, should have done anything except ignore him. But it was Jason and Jason and Jacob have had jack shit to talk about since, well, since forever pretty much. So Jacob ignored him and now there’s this voicemail and it’s just Jason screaming and he sounds terrified and hurt and all Jacob can think is _shit, shit, shit!_

He was in the middle of rehearsal when the call came, and it was cue to cue which means it took forever and only now is he turning on his phone and listening to his older brother’s voice and wondering what the hell it can mean and stumbling out of the theater into the cold, slushy rain, slipping on the sidewalk as he sprints towards his car, phone still held to his ear, praying Jason is okay.

He drops his keys twice and almost loses his phone to the pile of wet snow at his feet, but manages to catch it and slip it in his pocket even as he bends down, scrambling in the dirty muck for his keys. He grasps them, hardly noticing the cold metal cutting into his bare fingers as he fumbles to fit it in the lock. He’s all hurry and no thought. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that if he just slowed down, he would be in the car and on his way, but all he can hear is Jason’s screaming and he can’t slow down, not now, not with what could be his brother’s last words echoing in his head.

Once he’s in the car and gets it started, he’s driving like a maniac. He knows he’s driving like a maniac, leaning on the horn, swerving through traffic like he has a death wish, but he has to get there. He should have been there already. Should have known Jason was in Portland, should have gotten in touch. Should have forgiven him, finally, after everything, so that the last conversation they had wasn’t when Jason left, wasn’t shouting and screaming and a load of _I hate yous_ and slammed doors. And the last thing Jacob would have said to Jason would have been anything, _anything_ , other than “Fuck you, you fucking sell out!”

The apartment building comes up out of nowhere, looming ahead of Jacob, and he almost skids out pulling into the parking lot, fishtailing on the slick bib until he’s far enough in that his front tires have traction and pull the rest of the car along with them onto the asphalt. He parks haphazardly, and when he pushes his door open it slams hard into the side of the truck beside him but he doesn’t care right now, he’s got his phone out again and he’s checking the texts, searching for the second one, the one where Jason asked him to come. Gave his address. Gave his apartment number.

Third floor.

Jacob sprints up the icy walk and into the building, pushing past a woman just unlocking the door, her arms full of groceries. Doesn’t bother to apologize as he sends cans and boxes flying into the lobby. He takes the stairs, not the elevator, doesn’t want to wait. His wet shoes skid on the tile when he misses the grip tape, and when he turns the corner and passes the second floor. At the door to the third floor he stops, pauses, waits, _breathes_.

He has to be ready for whatever is there, whatever is waiting for him behind door number 318.

He pulls open the door and steps into the carpeted hall. It’s warmer here than it was on the stairs, quieter, too. His footsteps are muffled as he walks down the hall, glancing at doors as he goes. He doesn’t need to, though. 318 is open, the wood of the jamb broken, splintered. He steps up to the doorway and forces himself to look in. The living area is sparsely furnished, just a couch on one side and a portable television set on a crate on the other. The wood floor shines in the harsh light from the bare bulb swinging from the ceiling.

And that’s not the only thing that shines.

Blood. A lot of blood. And Jacob knows, knows deep in his bones, that it’s Jason’s. He doesn’t know if it’s a trick of the pool, but it looks like it’s too much, like there’s no way Jason survived whatever it was. But there’s no body that Jacob can see, and there’s no blood trail to another room, and Jacob doesn’t want to go in there to see because what if he finds Jason dead?

_Fucking sellout._

What if he doesn’t find him at all?

Jacob lets out a howl of rage, pounding his fist against the wall over and over and over and feels his face shift as he woges. Doesn’t care, doesn’t think about it. Tears are hot on his cheeks and his hand is starting to hurt, the knuckles scraped up, flecks of blood bright on the cream wallpaper that lines the hallway.

He has to go in. He has to know. Because it’s better if he’s dead in there because then it’s over. If they took him, then it’s only just beginning.

Jacob waits a moment, takes a breath, feels the woge recede, then he steps into the apartment, careful to avoid the pool of blood. It’s a small place. One bedroom off the living area – empty. Bathroom off the bedroom – empty. Kitchenette separated from the living room by an island – empty. Not a lot of places for a body to be, and Jason’s is in none of them.

Not thinking, Jacob collapses into Jason’s one kitchen chair at the small kitchen table that’s pushed into a spare corner of the room, presses his hands hard against his eyes. This can’t be happening, not now. They were always so careful, always hidden. They were…

No, _he_ was always so careful.

_Fucking sellout!_

Jason. He didn’t know what Jason had been up to, but he knew it involved the songs. He didn’t know where Jason had been, but he knew by virtue of the plan that had torn them apart that Jason _hadn’t_ been careful. Someone had heard. Someone had found him.

Two of them left in the world, and now one is missing.

“Damn it!” Jacob screams out, his voice hoarse from crying. He kicks the chair aside, it tumbles, falls into the blood, but Jacob is beyond caring. He doesn’t pay attention to his steps as he crosses the room, steps out into the hall.

And sees them, emerging from the stairs: cops.

And they see him. Three of them. A uniform and two plain clothes. He doesn’t hesitate, just runs. He can hear one of them behind him, but he’s already barreling into the elevator, pressing the door close button and ignoring the young man who’s sidling away from him towards the back corner of the enclosed space.

He doesn’t go to the lobby. Gets off on the second floor, then takes the stairs. It’s easy to sneak out, all the cops are focused on the elevator, but the only person they find in there is a very confused, very frightened man. Jacob doesn’t spare a thought to pity him, they’ll let him be soon enough.

But Jacob looks guilty. Jacob looks like a person of interest. And he doesn’t have time for questions and interrogations and assumptions.

He has to find Jason. 

Before he sings.


End file.
